Nº 3 of 12

About She Goes

You do not recognise the woman who
comes up from the sea with weed in her hair
and then coughs up a beak full of whitebait.
You do not know this old gull who has fought
over scraps or lost the sight in one eye.
Look at the oil slick on her shoulders
the black rainbows that cover her feathers
and watch as she tries to follow the ship
in through the neck of another bottle.
And in the kitchen she cries as the knives
swim in the sink like silvery eels.
You take her hand then lead her away and
say as you walk on water together
“Mind how you go mother, mind how you go.”